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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25401406">Hydra Fancies</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/greebled/pseuds/greebled'>greebled</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Compersion, FE3H Kinkmeme, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Multi, Other, Polyamory, Porn with Feelings, Threesome, Yearning, coconspirators to lovers, dissociating isnt a word in fodlan so tired will do, sexy i know, socioeconomic differences in access to trans healthcare, there's a lot to unpack with linhardts gender and it sure as shit aint happening here</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:42:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,109</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25401406</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/greebled/pseuds/greebled</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Does he not know? Is that it?”<br/>“No, he knows,” Linhardt muses. “To some extent. It’s different for nobles, more hush-hush.”<br/>“I don’t know if I believe that.” Ashe doesn’t take his eyes off the show in the valley. Caspar kills a soldier by wrapping his arms around his ribs and crushing him to death. “He’s a bit too eager to make excuses to touch the skin of other men to know, isn’t he?"</i>
  <br/>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Linhardt von Hevring, Caspar von Bergliez/Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert, Caspar von Bergliez/Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Linhardt von Hevring, Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>97</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Hydra Fancies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p><em>How 'bout you, my new favorite thing?</em><br/><em>Will you have me in your orbit evermore?</em><br/>-of Montreal, "Hydra Fancies"</p><p>If you look very, very closely, you can make out the silhouettes of two Imperial soldiers on horseback, up there on a hill.</p><p>One is a bow knight. He’s up there because, from this vantage point, he can rain arrows on just about anything. He’s also closer to any fliers that may try to make an ambush. The horse’s name is Crisp, like a fruit crisp, since he’s got a brownish mottled crumble-topping kind of coat to him. The contents of Crisp’s crisp, which his handler uses as a full name of sorts, can be anything from Apple to Plum to Berry, all interchangeable. This is because it’s funny, and Crisp, being a large, stupid animal, doesn’t know the difference. The mounted archer’s name is Ashe, and he is gay.</p><p>The other is a dark knight. He’s up there because, from this vantage point, the viscera of the battlefield is abstracted to the point where he can stomach it. It’s a necessary nerf for a scary-clever mage. His mobility makes him perfect for picking off stragglers and zooming around enemy lines. The horse’s name is Ceth, pronounced like Seth, short for Cethleann. She is shiny black all over, as is custom for a Dark Knight, and it makes her handler feel like more of a badass than he’d ever openly admit. The mounted mage’s name is Linhardt, and he’s gay, too.</p><p>(Well. Labeling these things was tiresome. But in this moment? This was a gay, gay moment.)</p><p>If anyone asked, they’d insist they could stop at any moment to fight, but for now the two of them are completely absorbed watching a war master holler and punch his way through an entire crowd of enemies. This is becoming an increasingly common formation for them. He’s traipsing around like a bloodthirsty ballerina. His unfiltered joy rings off the sides of the hills. Even way, way up here, far from the blood and guts, far too far to make out his muscles or the look on his face, just watching the way he <em>moves</em>, it’s captivating. It’s deeply erotic. The war master’s name is Caspar, and he is…</p><p>“Does he not know? Is that it?”</p><p>“No, he knows,” Linhardt muses. “To some extent. It’s different for nobles, more hush-hush.”</p><p>“I don’t know if I believe that.” He doesn’t take his eyes off the show in the valley. Caspar kills a soldier by wrapping his arms around his ribs and crushing him to death. “He’s a bit too eager to make excuses to touch the skin of other men to know, isn’t he? Are you sure you aren’t just projecting?”</p><p>“Rude?” A pegasus knight crests the hill behind them, so he pauses so Ashe can shoot her mount in the heart. He waits patiently until he doesn’t have to shout to be heard over the ruckus of whinnying and crashing when it tumbles down the rocky hill’s face. “Yes, I’m sure. I’m the expert, in case you’ve forgotten. I’ve known him since we were children. Wanna hazard a guess at who his first crush was?”</p><p>Ashe takes in a breath to steady his aim. “...Who?”</p><p>“Kyphon.”</p><p>“Damn it,” hisses Ashe, sending his arrow into the tiny moving target of the half-dead rider’s eye socket. “That’s really cute.”</p><p>Linhardt heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Yeah.”</p><p>Back to silence, then. The little uprising in the valley is just about dismantled by now, there’s not much for them to do. Ashe does a full turn, to see if there are any other surprises. Finding none, he does a little tug on his reigns so Crisp nods towards the carnage. “Are we ever going to talk about this?”</p><p>“We are talking about this,” by now, Ashe knows him well enough to discern actual annoyance from his usual affect. This is the latter. “Or, were. I believe we’ve about exhausted this subject. Or maybe I’m just tired.”</p><p>“I agree completely, but that’s not the <em>this</em> I mean.” Ashe’s brows pinch in their shared frustration. “Obviously, whatever we’re doing isn’t working, is it?”</p><p>
  <em>“We?”</em>
</p><p>When he says it like that, it makes Ashe feel pretty dumb, but he doesn’t waver. “Well, yeah. As suitors, I guess. Don’t you feel like we both have half the pieces to this puzzle, too? Like we have a shared goal?”</p><p>“Not at <em>all</em>,” uh oh, there it was. There’s a threat deep in the cool green of his eye; a forest fire that will be too big to stop by the time you can smell smoke. “I know Caspar better than anybody. You can’t make him do anything that isn’t his idea<em>. Eventually, </em>he’s going to add the pieces up, and when he does, I’ll be here. I don’t mind waiting. I’m in this for the long haul.”</p><p>Ashe has read enough embarrassing swill to be able to identify Linhardt’s friends-to-lovers fetish, but to hear him just admit it out loud was a real treat. He can’t keep the amusement out of his voice. “Huh. I never took you as the possessive type, Lin.”</p><p>“I’m just being realistic,” Linhardt looks him up and down in a way that makes Ashe giddy with rage. What could he be appraising him for? As if the venn diagram of their faults wasn't nearly a circle. “Honestly, I’m surprised you’ve made it this far into the conversation without swearing your allegiance elsewhere. If you hurry west, you can probably lick an Alliance boot and complete your collection by sundown. Go on. I won’t tell.”</p><p>Linhardt does not actually give a shit about Ashe’s past, and Ashe knows it, and Linhardt knows Ashe knows it. He’s just trying to shake him. It isn’t going to work. “You don’t have to see me as an ally, but, really? You don’t even see me as worth a little jealousy? I’ve gotten close to Caspar in a <em>tenth</em> of the time you have!”</p><p>“Ashe, I hardly see you as anything.”</p><p>“Well, while you’ve been off <em>waiting</em>,” Ashe does a lewd gesture with an ease and bitchiness he frankly didn’t know he had in him. “I’ve been getting to know the Caspar who actually exists. I don’t know where you got the assumption that you’re the love interest in his life story, you <em>w</em><em>ill</em> to have to play an active role in your courtship, eventually.”</p><p>Linhardt goes all clammy like he’s just seen a severed limb<em>.</em></p><p>“Aw, did I make your fantasy sound like too much work?”</p><p>“Stop,” comes his seasick reply.</p><p>Ashe does another scan of the area, mostly so he can keep grinning without getting magicked off his horse. When he looks back to Linhardt, he still looks far from pleased, but there’s something like respect there. As cheers rise up from their battalion, he only nods. “Fine. Let’s talk.”</p><p> </p><p>Caspar is a touchy subject for both of them, so their first strategy meetings are brief. They soon figure out they have the most luck keeping their tempers in check talking in the library, in the golden sliver of time where Ashe is waking up and Linhardt is going to bed. </p><p>Ashe was right; they really do have two pieces of a larger story that fit together. The past and the present, side by side like this, are really illuminating. It takes time to stitch it all together, seeing as the two barely know each other at all. They spend a lot of time just hanging out. Strategically. Ashe is openly delighted by all the stories about their humble beginnings as noble brats, brought together by virtue of their fathers hating each others’ guts.</p><p>“Did it ever bother them?” Ashe asks, refilling Linhardt’s tea for him, since he’s filling his own anyway, and all. At one point, he had mentioned drinks known for their energy-giving properties – black teas, even coffee – put him right to sleep. He theorized it had something to do with his crest. Whatever the reason, Ashe didn’t live in a strange reverse reality. When they met in the early mornings, with Linhardt at the tail end of a reading bender, it just made sense to share.</p><p>With increased exposure, Ashe has gotten even better at reading him, so he recognizes right away that the sardonic smile he gives him is anything but. “It made them <em>itchy</em>. They both hated it so much, but they never said a thing. Not to each other, and certainly not to us. But they just kept coming up with excuses to have us in the same place at the same time.”</p><p>“Whatever for! Were they hoping you’d get sick of each other?”</p><p>“Mm,” Linhardt ponders this over a sip of tea, like he’s thought about this so much converting it to words is an undertaking. “No. They knew being at each others’ throats was a huge inconvenience, but they were both too stubborn to compromise. They were using us as pawns, hoping the other would roll over when he saw how happy his kid was.”</p><p>“And now you’re paying the price,” Ashe laments.</p><p>Ashe doesn’t think he’s ever heard Linhardt laugh before.</p><p> </p><p>They ease into a new routine this way, hopeless, with company. Their crush continues to elude them, now more than ever. It’s frustrating,but at least they aren’t alone in it anymore. The world keeps turning, even though the tragedy of war and the tragedy of no one getting to fuck or date Caspar von Bergliez. Their own small worlds adjust.</p><p>It’s mid-day when Linhardt finds himself yanked in the opposite direction. “We need to talk,” says Ashe, voice clipped and tense. He’s gripping his arm with enough force to sting, doesn’t give him time to turn around, skittering ahead at a pace that leaves him stumbling backwards. Being the least muscular person he knew was something Linhardt wouldn’t miss at all if they ever got around to ending this war.</p><p>“Okay, okay, let go of me,” he complains. He yanks himself free with an irritated grunt, but doesn’t hesitate at all to follow in step with his attempted kidnapper. “What has gotten into you?”</p><p>“We need to talk <em>in private</em>,” he clarifies. He’s looking straight ahead, a certain terror on his face like he’s just seen a ghost. It’s clear he won’t even look at him until there’s some privacy.</p><p>The fear there creeps into his own sluggish pulse. Linhardt hustles ahead a bit, craning his neck to cheat his way into his conspirator’s vision. “Ashe,” he states, firmly. He’s learned enough about Ashe to know he’s been through a lot more than his cheerful demeanor lets on. “Are you alright? Don’t make me wait for that much.”</p><p>“I, ah,” something in him falters, makes him look pained. He meets his eye with an unexpected softness, though he doesn’t slow at all. “I’m alright, Linhardt. Sorry. We just... May have made a mistake.”</p><p>“A mistake?” Now that he knows Ashe isn’t hurt, he’s back to being loose-limbed and skeptic. He had just left his room, so returning to it took no time at all. In his haste, Ashe yanks the doorknob a couple times as Linhardt took his sweet time fishing out his keys. “Calm down, would you? I’m not going anywhere. Why are you in such a hurry?”</p><p>“Please just look faster. We might be being followed.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>Ashe shot him a panicked glare, but still refused to actually give him any information. Linhardt didn’t flinch at all, and just looked back down to focus on his task. His robes had deep pockets, he’d lose his own hand in there if it wasn’t attached to him.</p><p>It wasn’t the left one.</p><p>It wasn’t the right one.</p><p>Ugh.</p><p>Linhardt goes back to check the left again.</p><p>Linhardt hears a scuffle and a click.</p><p>“<em>U</em><em>nbearable</em>,” he groans, and his arm is nearly pulled out of its socket a second time, through the expertly picked-open door.</p><p>Nearly thrown into his own damned room, Linhardt uses the momentum to stumble back and sit on his bed. Ashe, on the other hand, shuts the door and paces in the middle of it. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, and they roam about to fuss with his hair, his face, his sleeves. Linhardt is more of a saint than Ashe is, apparently, because he gives him a moment to speak on his own before prompting, “Well?”</p><p>He stammers uselessly, completing another lap and a half of the carpet, before finally plopping his ass on the edge of Linhardt’s bed. Without asking. He doesn’t mind, but he thinks about how rude it would have been if he did. Being the picture of muted annoyance is not helpful, as it turns out, because Ashe takes one glance at him and flops back, groaning.</p><p>“Ashe.”</p><p>“I, well. I just talked to Caspar,” he manages. He’s barely able to ungrit his teeth to say it. Not a great sign.</p><p>Linhardt draws a knee into his chest, resting a cheek against it. “Go on.”</p><p>Ashe’s hands reach up to press to his eyes. “I don’t even know what I said, but all of a sudden he got really upset with me. He stormed off, but, before he did, he said, um… It turns out-”</p><p>The door, with its lock newly disarmed, slams against the wall. Ashe skitters back, his back to the wall now, but Linhardt is more or less used to Caspar’s shit by now.</p><p>“Oh, sure, by all means, make yourself at home,” he mumbles, but no one hears it because Caspar is so, so much louder.</p><p>“Aw, shit, I’m sorry!” Even though he had no problem breaking and entering, the sight of the two of them causes Caspar to stagger back, almost back out the door. He doesn’t look smaller when he’s afraid, it’s kind of the opposite, taking up room and fluffing up like a panicking crest beast.</p><p>Linhardt is beginning to think he’ll never get to be in the loop ever again. “Sorry for what?”</p><p>“’Cuz, I, ugh! I don’t know! I’m sorry, this is all backwards, huh? I’ll, I should go!”</p><p>“What don’t you know?" Linhardt asks. "What is all backwards?”</p><p>Ashe has his face in his hands again.</p><p>“Y-you know,” stammers Caspar. He gestures at the room with an open hand, clarifying nothing.</p><p>“I promise you, I don’t.”</p><p>“If I wanna prove I’m not mad, I shouldn’t interrupt!” Goddess, he is so loud.</p><p>“Not mad about <em>what?</em>” He raises his hands, palms up, slender fingers locked into gnarled claws. It takes an awful lot to make Linhardt want to get into a yelling match, but he doesn’t know what else to do. “Interrupt<em> what!?</em> You’re only interrupting Ashe driving me mad in <em>exactly</em> the same way!”</p><p>The room gets impossibly more tense at that, for reasons Linhardt doesn’t get to know.</p><p>Ashe is the one who finds his brave first. “Caspar has been avoiding us because he’s under the impression that we-”</p><p>“H-hey, I’m not avoiding anybody!” Interrupts Caspar.</p><p>The pre-lightning sensation of someone’s magic crackling to the surface makes all parties’ arm hair stand on end. Linhardt snaps around to snarl at him. Caspar’s hands fly up in defense. Maybe later, Linhardt can feel embarrassed about resorting to a threat, but not now, because it works.</p><p>“It’s okay that you’re dating!” Caspar squawks, waving his hands. “I-it’s, it’s really okay! Not that you need my permission, I... It’s just a lot to take in! I just got… Agh! I lost my temper. It’s okay! I’ll get used to it! I’m happy for you two, I, really!”</p><p>The static dissipates. Linhardt can feel Ashe sigh beside him, slumping in defeat. All Linhardt can do is stare in a way that’s intense enough to halfway justify how much it makes Caspar squirm. He stalls out, he can’t help it, it’s like he’s been stuck in quicksand all his life and the rope that was thrown to him is a different material than what he was expecting. Different than what he knows would be safe.</p><p>“You’re mad,” Caspar guesses, stepping all the way back out of the room. “That’s fair, yeah, I’d be mad, too. I did totally blow up at Ashe about it, so you were probably right to, um, not tell me sooner. I’m gonna,” another step. “I’m gonna go.”</p><p>“Don’t,” says Linhardt. It comes out so small, vulnerable without his permission. He has to say it again, with more oomph. “Don’t go. I’m not mad, Caspar. Come sit down.”</p><p>He must still be hard to parse, because Caspar looks more nervous than anything. Happy to not be chased off, but shaky, stiff. They all are. He takes a steadying breath and brings a hand back to fuss with his hair. “If you say so...”</p><p>As he turns to close the door, Linhardt checks on Ashe out of the corner of his eye, to find that he’s staring right back at him. He looks every bit as lost as he was just a moment ago, with none of the anger. Just pure confused. He cocks his head to the side, opens his mouth, but before he can ask him anything, Caspar sits heavily in the space between them.</p><p>He still looks like he’s expecting to get chewed out. He’s got his feet firmly planted on the floor, leaned forwards to put his elbows on his knees. Flighty, ready to get up and leave at the drop of a hat. He looks miserable, in his own way, and a little tired, too. Has he been losing sleep over this? Linhardt isn’t good at comforting people, not like Ashe is, and he isn’t good at cheering them up like Caspar is, either. All he really has is empathy, and he uses it to gauge him as he asks his question in a careful tone.</p><p>“Why did you get so angry about it?”</p><p>“What?” Ashe studders, affronted, but Linhardt raises a hand to silence him.</p><p>“About us being involved,” he clarifies, studying him. “Why would you be angry?”</p><p>Caspar bounces a knee. “I wasn’t! Er… Okay, I wasn’t angry at <em>you</em>. Aw, man,” he looks up at the ceiling, like hes bracing himself for a stinging bout of healing magic. “I was angry at <em>me</em>, okay? I’ve been trying to figure out what to do about you two for ages and I waited too long, and I got left behind.”</p><p>By the end his voice is all warbly. He squeezes his eyes shut and grits his teeth and shakes his head vigorously. In the movement, Linhardt can see Ashe from his spot behind him, eyes round as dinner plates. “Caspar, you had feelings for us? Really?”</p><p>“Arrrgh,” he groans. He does little kicks with his legs in frustration. “Maybe. Okay, definitely! But, you don’t see me that way at all, totally not now that you know if I was with one of you, I’d still think about the other. That’s weird, right? But! Ugh!” He slaps his face with both hands. “Seeing you two happy together is… I want you to be happy. So I’ll stuff it. It just…” He sits up straight, putting on a brave face to show how determined he is to make this alright. “It might take a while, but I can take it!”</p><p>It’s the cutest thing Linhardt has ever seen. He wants to say so, but his body starts icing over again. This is all so much that it makes him want to freeze into inaction, but instead he forces his mouth to move. “How long’s this been going on, Caspar?” It isn’t until then that he notices he’s smiling.</p><p>“Goddess, uh,” he says when he sees, blushing all at once. He itches his cheek, looking bashful in a way Linhardt has never seen directed at him before. At least, not without quickly discouraging the idea and assuming it must be something else. How many times he must have done that… “I think I’ve always had a crush on you, Lin. Since before I knew crushes were a thing. I’ve always kinda assumed we’d be together forever, you know? That’s not… Other kid friends don’t <em>do</em> that, huh?”</p><p>He looks over at Ashe, then, which opens his posture up a lot. “I don’t think I noticed until I met Ashe, and right away I was like, whoa, if this is a crush, I’ve already been doing it forever!” He laughs and its nervous, sweet, self-aware about how he must sound. “I thought, shit, now what?”</p><p>Linhardt straddles Caspar’s lap, is what.</p><p>It’s sudden, but he doesn’t flinch. When he looks up at him it’s with excitement… Then comes the conflict. He struggles to keep eye contact. His hands hesitate to grab his hips, even when Linhardt grips his shoulder, raises a hand to caress a line down his cheek. Caspar shivers. “I, um, This is...”</p><p>Now it’s Linhardt’s turn to cut people off. After the past few minutes, it feels almost as good as the body pinned under him. “Ashe,” he says, low and urgent. That felt great. He can see why people do it. He doesn’t take his eyes off Caspar’s, holding him captive there, keeping him from checking on the man behind him. There’s the sound of springs moving as he gathers himself.</p><p>“I-I understand,” comes his reply, but judging by the emotion in it and the way he’s climbing out of the bed…</p><p>“No, you don’t. I didn’t either. I do, now,” he says. He has no idea where this snappiness came from or how long it will last. He swallows quickly, then gives Ashe a look he hopes leans closer to hungry than scared. “Ashe, come kiss me,” he takes in a little breath and it absolutely does not. “If you want to. You do <em>want</em> to, don’t you?”</p><p>If Caspar looks scared, and Linhardt looks scared, Ashe looks mortified. “W-what? <em>Me?</em>” He points to himself, as if he isn’t the only Ashe on the bed.</p><p>“It’s okay if you don’t, but...”</p><p>“Oh, he does,” jabs Caspar. “I mean, he is your...” Then, a moment after. “Wait-!?”</p><p>Linhardt puts a hand over Caspar’s mouth, muffling the rest of the sentence. “Do you?”</p><p>Ashe is smart, but he’s also shy. He’s pieced it together by now, surely, but his ego won’t let him believe it just yet. “Caspar is right there.” He states.</p><p>“Irrelevant.” Linhardt rolls his eyes. “Or. Tangentially relevant.”</p><p>He fidgets, and it’s not anxious, it’s eager. He looks aside, grinning. “Shouldn’t we… Talk more about this? It’s all happening so fast.”</p><p>“Hmm...” One last person to check.</p><p>When he moves his hand from Caspar’s mouth, the wolfishness he uncovers puts some in his own. Caspar’s so excited he can barely contain it, eyes full of stars, butt wiggling minutely like he has a tail. Linhardt sinks both hands in his coarse, jagged hair, making Caspar wrap his arms around his middle, before fixing his attention back on Ashe with newfound guts.</p><p>“What else is there to talk about?” He chides. “If I’m wrong, that’s alright, but if I’m not and you skitter off to go <em>wait</em> I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you.”</p><p>That does it. “Wow, talk about character development,” he chuckles, closing the distance between them. He approaches at an angle, as if he still can’t process touching one body while kissing another, which Linhardt figures is fair. He can barely wrap his head around it, himself.</p><p>Linhardt’s hands are full, so it’s Ashe who reaches to trace his chin, to shine the beacon of his affection straight at him for the first time, to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. He eases into him so gently and sweetly it makes Linhardt feel all aflutter, threatening to take down the wall of gruffness he needed to get this ball rolling. He kisses him back, just as soft, out of necessity with how much they’re both fighting to contain their smiles. Broad, calloused hands rub up his back and he sighs, melting his front to Caspar’s with an ease that should have been there years ago.</p><p>They break apart just a little so Ashe can get comfortable, nestled against Caspar’s side, a hand at the small of his back. “What was the joke?” Caspar asks, nosing into Linhardt’s neck, and they both laugh. He tugs his robes brattily. “C’monnnn, tell me. What? S’an inside joke too <em>intimate</em>?”</p><p>Linhardt yanks his hair to shut him up, but Ashe answers him, his lips so close to Linhardt’s they brush. “It’s the codeword Lin would use when he really meant <em>jerking off.” </em>He kisses him again, all syrupy sweet still like he hasn’t done anything wrong. “He could have just told you he’s been infatuated with you for his whole life, but he’s too shy, so he just did a <em>lot</em> of waiting.”</p><p>Somehow, through the heat slamming the back of his neck, Linhardt can still feel Caspar sputter against it in his own bashfulness. “Wh-, oh, wow, really?”</p><p>“How else do you think he’s able to sleep so soundly in the middle of a war?” Ashe teases.</p><p>He’s embarrassed, but that is pretty funny. He ropes an arm around Ashe’s waist, snagging the whole tangle closer together, and sneers against his mouth. “I take back taking back everything I said about you being a traitor. I was right the first time.”</p><p>Any traces of actual venom leave him when Caspar mouths at his neck. It’s uncertain and halting and so, so gentle, carrying years of daydreams about how and where he’d touch him given the chance. “Hey, I would’ve more often, too, if it didn’t make me feel all guilty,” he admits, which, for some reason, affects Linhardt more than if he’d admitted to cranking his hog 24/7.</p><p>It isn’t the most comfortable position, but its not like anyone else has any better ideas about how to assemble a six armed disaster gay. Besides, it’s overwhelming in a way that’s kind of nice. They loosen up quickly. Ashe turns out to be a more bruising, assertive kisser than either of them expect. He’s the one to escalate. He gets a hand mostly snagged in Linhardt’s hair, but all that nets him is a displeased huff and a hand around his wrist.</p><p>“Gentle,” he asserts.</p><p>Both of them dial it back considerably. Caspar muffles an apology into the collar of his robes, abandoning his project of seeing how far down he can leave hickies, has the absolute gall to remove the hands gripping his hips. Ashe releases his teeth from his lower lip, even the pointy chipped one that Linhardt has been quickly falling in love with.</p><p>He squirms. “Aht, no, no, no, don’t you dare,” he stammers, breathless. “Just don’t pull my hair. That’s all. You can keep ravaging me now.”</p><p>He’s squeezed close again, and Ashe gives him another hearty kiss, but it isn’t long before he breaks it. “Hold on, I think we’re forgetting something,” he says. Turns out Ashe is also the type of person who sounds suave like this. Judging by the stir of hips under him, Linhardt isn’t the only one who notices.</p><p>Hands run up Caspar’s sides, bunching up his tunic. Ashe kisses his temple. “Can I?”</p><p>“If you, um,” Caspar stiffens, looking to them both. Even though his hypothesis was proven wrong and he knows he isn’t really getting in the way, it hasn’t sunk in just yet. “If you want to?”</p><p>“I really do,” he assures him. Linhardt tries to lean back to get out of the way and nearly tips backwards. Begrudgingly, he dismounts him, for now, and watches as Ashe undresses him.</p><p>It’s only in doing that where Ashe looks a bit anxious, without the buffer of another person, or maybe because of something else. Once it’s up over his head and discarded, Caspar pivots to grin at him. He’s jacked, of course he is, but in a utilitarian way, a stout brick of muscle. Pink scars and a light but vibrant pattern of blue fuzz play across the canvas of his body, striped with some of the dumbest tan lines to ever grace a human body.</p><p>Ashe is expecting a kiss and stays pretty still, tilting his head as he speaks. “Look at you,” he compliments, or begins to compliment, before Caspar hits him like a runaway vegetable cart, bowling him over onto the bed.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” he cackles, shoving his strong palms up the bottom of Ashe’s hooded shirt. It’s one of the only blue pieces of clothing left in the monastery. “You too, now, c’mon! We can’t be the only kinda-naked ones.”</p><p>Ashe’s shyness is flooding back in gushes, but, realizing how puny he feels when those hands rub up his stomach, it isn’t the only thing that feels flooded or gushing. He isn’t about to stop him. “Linhardt’s still fully dressed,” he corrects, even arcing back into the touch.</p><p>“Is not!”</p><p>Ashe cranes his neck to look, and not only does Linhardt look just as lost, but he undeniably <em>is</em>. He even has his shoes on. “He,” Ashe shivers when the hands use his ribcage as a washboard, pressing him to the mattress, then beginning to lift. “He <em>undeniably</em> is.” Ashe’s brows furrow at his own voice, and maybe it’s that that allows him to shove his nerves aside. “Is this what I do when my mouth is free? Just say things that are obvious? I am looking at Caspar, Linhardt is fully dressed...” The worn fabric of his shirt covers his face. “Chichol’s name should have been spelled any other way.”</p><p>“No,” Caspar insists, flicking the shirt free with one last yank. “Linny isn’t wearing any underwear or pants or anything under that robe. I could feel it.”</p><p>Linhardt doesn’t even look embarrassed. “Eh.” He shrugs a shoulder. “Would you?”</p><p>“Ch’yeah, I would!”</p><p>“I don’t know if I would or not, but I <em>know</em> Caspar wouldn’t,” Ashe laughs. This makes him the center of attention again, and he regrets it immediately when he feels both of his proper noble partners with their proper noble bodies take in the sight of him for the first time.</p><p>They all have scars, but not like Ashe does. Battlescars from a well-supplied army are pinched, jagged, sometimes red, sometimes even ugly, but they’re <em>healthy</em>, healed right away with the help of magic and the best potions and elixirs the Empire has to offer. They’re an interesting showcase of what a body can do when its only limit is itself. Ashe has blotchy, rotten-looking childhood pock-marks on the backs of his shoulders from getting shoved into a dirty brick wall. Nicks and burns from day-to-day life in the gutter that look a hundred times worse than anything left by a blade, bar two.</p><p>After Lonato’s death, all was uncertain and Ashe had no way of knowing if the Church would have him expelled or this royal-sized allowance would be his last. The only thing that <em>was</em> certain is that he would die if he didn’t do something about his chest, so he dove back into the back-alleys of his youth to find someone who could. It solved his problem, looked fine under clothes, and went much smoother than it could have, but his scars were still thick and hard years later, noticeably wobbly and wide on his arrow-nocking arm.</p><p>The point was, he looked <em>rough</em>, but he’d come to terms with it and he really wanted to get back to actively fooling around before someone ruined the mood to pretend he didn’t.</p><p>“Whoaa-hoa,” Caspar says, in awe. Caspar, a prime example of what figuring it out early, and lots of money, and a noble family obsessed with appearances could do to turn the tides of puberty, was in awe. “Ashe has <em>lick-lines</em>.”</p><p>“I have what?” Ashe began to ask, but being pounced back into the pillows and treated like the world’s most desirable envelope slapped his ability to talk right out of his hands. He was told he wouldn’t get anything out of playing with his chest, even when the static of his body stitching itself back together subsided. It was a fair assumption to make. He didn’t even have nipples anymore, just smooth-enough skin laid over his lean musculature, pinched awkwardly in some places where it hadn’t been lined up quite right with the flesh below.</p><p>Maybe Ashe should write his surgeon a letter or something.</p><p>Caspar followed the swoops of ropey tissue to their center, pounded kisses against the smooth stripe of his sternum. He was relentless, huffing and chuckling to himself as Ashe squirmed and clawed at Caspar’s back and the sheets beneath him, trying and failing to choke back his moans.</p><p>Linhart found that he didn’t feel frozen this time, just… Happy to watch. It was surreal how far from jealousy the feeling was.</p><p>Caspar, feeling inspired, followed the scar on his back all the way to his armpit, nosed into it, and licked a firm line up it. Ashe cried out, loud enough for him to cover his own mouth, before the noise petered out into one of self-judgement. “Ugh, the fuck?” He rasped, still in his hand, glowering at the ceiling. This made both Caspar and Linhardt crack up, both looser than usual, drunk on the bizarre and wonderful atmosphere, and Ashe couldn’t help but join them.</p><p>“You like that? Ya big pervert?” Teased Caspar. He ruffled his hair in a way that was just a shade too chummy for all this, which did nothing for the trio’s giggle fit. He was still pinning him, thumbing the little points of flesh at his sides.</p><p>Ashe shoved him off playfully, and sat up just enough to use this pause as an opportunity to undo Caspar’s pants. “I’m not the one who just dove in there. <em>You’re</em> perverse!”</p><p>Caspar let him do it, assisting him with a little shimmy. “You’re <em>handsome.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>When Caspar stoops to do the same back and is stopped by Ashe’s boots, there’s a brief pause so they can all just get their pesky clothes out of the way and be done with it. The lull sobers them up enough to recognize that there is going to be a small tactics meeting before they get much farther. Taking a page from Byleth’s and Edelgard’s meetings, that mostly meant a lot of making out and mumbling to each other.</p><p>“What’re we gonna do with this ol’ thing, Cas?” Ashe inquires, voice low against Linhardt’s ear. Gingerly, he takes his balls in hand, gives them a little roll. Linhardt gasps and shivers, twitches into it. He wasn’t going to say anything (yet), but with all the casual grinding and groping the other two were doing, he was starting to feel a little left out. </p><p>Serving as one of the outer brackets of their pile, Caspar runs his hand down his side, gives his hip an experimental brace. He's bulked up a little since joining the cavalry, but he's still softer than the others, especially over the legs. A real bookworm's build. “Man, I don’t know where to start. Been thinking about it too long.” He kisses a few of Ashe’s freckles as he thinks. “Any ideas?”</p><p>Ashe is too close to see very well, but if Linhardt had to guess, he’d say the look on his face was sheepish. “Well, I hadn’t...” He huffs a laugh, grasping for a way to say this. “Really expected… To have to figure this out...?”</p><p>Linhardt gives Ashe’s cheek a tug and smirks. “Ah, was somebody projecting?”</p><p>“Oh, Goddess.” This time Caspar gets the picture right away and laughs against him, grinning so wide Ashe can feel it. “Must be hard, bein’ the prettiest boy on the strike force.”</p><p>Ashe is smiling when he kisses Linhardt, twining his hand with Caspar’s at his waist. “Sorry, sorry…”</p><p>“Nothing to be sorry about,” he hums back, an odd feeling in his chest making him feel shivery at the thought of there being a bit more to his gender than what it said on the tin. He doesn’t have time to unpack it, what with the war and his slim slivers of real estate in the waking world and all his research, but…</p><p>“It’s understandable. Caspar’s always been more of a man than I am, anyway. Kind of ironic,” he drawls, testing the feeling of the words on his tongue. Ashe is stroking his knuckles up his shaft now, awkwardly, but nice nonetheless. “When we were younger and him being himself was such a big deal, I used to wish I could just give him my cock instead.”</p><p>“Do it now, then!” Chirps Caspar.</p><p>“Mmh?” Says Linhardt, feeling oversensitive all of a sudden. Goddess, what the hell was that?</p><p>Then, he meets his gaze, all blown out and mischievous. “Give it t’me, Lin.”</p><p>Linhardt has never been so eager to jump out of bed.</p><p> </p><p>Contrary to previous jokes, Linhardt was usually too tired or scatterbrained to masturbate all that often. He has to tear his side table apart looking for his oil, and eventually finds it rolled under his bed. He wonders how many people can say they’ve been under a mattress creaking with the weight of their two major crushes fooling around on it</p><p>Sure enough, when he pops back out, he finds they’re all ensnared again. Caspar is between Ashe’s legs, one of his legs up over his shoulder, and has somehow managed to get two fingers into him without any lube. He must be able to sense Linhardt’s accustomed-to-buttholes disbelief, because he wiggles aside a bit to give him a better look.</p><p>“Ashe isn’t all hormonally mixed around like I am, dude gets <em>way</em> wetter’n me,” he explains, and somehow manages to make it sound commendable, sexy. Sure enough, Ashe is flushed and slick and the stretch looks intense, but not painful. He wrenches his wrist a fraction, making his- <em>their</em> partner twist and gasp his name. “Lucky bastard.”</p><p>“I don’t, I don’t, I,” he babbles, is cut off by another pleasurable wince. He gives up, throws an arm over his eyes. “Fuck.”</p><p>Linhardt curls beside him, traces his fingers down his thigh, keeping him from slamming them shut when Caspar slips another blunt finger in and hooks them upward. It makes a noise almost as profane as the one Ashe does with his mouth. “You don’t usually get so sloppy, do you?”</p><p>His knees bend so he can rock harder against Caspar’s hand, but he still manages to answer with a <em>yes, </em><em>um,</em><em> no, not at all,</em> and a whole lot of nonverbal affirmations.</p><p>“Gee, thanks,” Caspar says, again, somehow making it sound completely genuine and lusty and <em>Caspar</em>. “It’s an honor, Sir Ubert.” He kisses his stomach and clamps his thumb down beside the shining bump of his cock. Linhardt had always kind of worried about how people were supposed to tell when people without penises were finished, but Ashe throws that concern out the window, too. He howls too-abruptly, making his voice crack and go quiet, and ruts himself recklessly, recklessly, goes boneless.</p><p>He hasn’t come down all the way, hasn’t even caught his breath, when he reaches over and feebly shoves Linhardt’s hand off him. A bit hypnotized for a minute there, Linhardt blinks at him. “Go,” he pants. Huh? He gestures at Caspar, who’s looking at him like a man dying of thirst. Linhardt feels his heart completely swell to fill his ribcage. He must make some kind of face, because Ashe shakes with amusement. “Dummy.”</p><p> </p><p>The few feet he shuffles to his longest-held love feels simultaneously the shortest and longest distance he’s ever traveled. He doesn’t know what to say, so he says, “Caspar.” He uncorks the lube.</p><p>“Hey, beautiful,” comes his reply. He’s still between Ashe’s legs, leaning against one of them like a piece of furnature. He wiggles his rump expectantly. “Come here often?”</p><p>Linhardt shakes his head, tries to keep it above water. “I don’t, if you can believe it.” He coats his fingers and gives them a second to warm up.</p><p>“Aw, why not?”</p><p>He doesn't know what to say to that, either.</p><p>Even as he settles in behind him, Caspar just sounds so sweet asking that he has to swallow something stuck in his throat. He doesn’t say anything as he slips a finger into him. Having exclusively touched cis men in the past, Linhardt is grateful to use his uncertainty as an excuse for being quiet. It has much more give to it than the holes he’s used to, and it takes a second finger without any fuss. There’s some wetness there, but far less than Ashe. Linhardt tries to focus on the technical aspect of what he’s about to do, but it fails when Caspar laughs a little.</p><p>“Lin, you goof,” he turns to look at him, and, oh, oh no. “C’mon.”</p><p>Caspar is really into...</p><p>This.</p><p>Yes, <em>this</em>. <em>This</em>, Linhardt could work with.</p><p>“So impatient,” he chides, and succeeds in keeping his voice even.</p><p>He readies himself to give him <em>this.</em></p><p>Linhardt drizzles himself with oil, not caring much about the mess on the sheets. First, because how could he? Second, because he caught Caspar wiping his fingers on them when he thought he wasn’t looking. It was fine. Whatever. Then, he steadies himself behind him, just like he’s done before with other desperate men in this desperate war, puts his hands on his hips, and pushes into him slow and deep.</p><p>Caspar makes the most wonderful creaky sound when he does it, and wraps his arms around Ashe’s waist. Ashe is still spent, but Linhardt catches him looking all fond and impressed at Caspar before he drops his head. “Wow, Cas,” Ashe coos. He probably pets his hair or something. Linhardt doesn’t know, because he’s using a scar on his back as an anchor point. Wait, no, that's too real. He finds a mole to use instead as he starts to thrust, slow and steady until he can figure out how it feels for him.</p><p>For Caspar, physically.</p><p>Linhardt blinks, swallows.</p><p>Linhardt isn’t sure where his dick even is, possibly wherever the rest of his brain is.</p><p>The room feels small, and Linhardt is tired.</p><p>If he’s anything.</p><p>His chest heaves with light pants, which means his body must be exerted a little.</p><p>“Linhardt?”</p><p>He’s keeping a steady rhythm and all that, the person he’s having sex with is moaning and trembling under him, and he can absolutely do this like it was anybody else and it will be fine.</p><p>“H-hey, Linhardt? Linhardt, hey, look.”</p><p>Linhardt redoubles his efforts to block out how sweet whoever it is he’s pounding sounds, but of course Caspar is loud in bed and it makes it really difficult. He would be. Linhardt feels a bit nauseous. He can’t really feel his fingers. He bites the inside of his cheek and shuts his eyes.</p><p>The cap of his oil bottle hits him right between the eyes, mercilessly snapping him out of his safe little fugue. He grunts and blinks back into reality, onto Ashe and his stupid perfect aim. He must have stopped, because Caspar, that Caspar, the Caspar that he’s somehow balls-deep inside of, whines “Aaargh, why’d you stop…!?” against Ashe’s belly.</p><p>He’s angry. Caspar was probably close, he was probably almost done. He hates Ashe. Ashe looks completely unimpressed, tilting his chin defiantly. “Linhardt,” he says. He’s already moving, as much as Caspar hugs at him and complains. “Let’s flip him.”</p><p> </p><p>Caspar causes a ruckus, but Ashe doesn’t relent, piling up pillows against the headboard, settling himself there on his back and pulling Caspar close, so the back of his head rests on his chest. Linhardt says nothing and doesn't help, still feeling foggy and angry and, what was it? He really didn’t have a word for it other than tired, but that didn’t quite seem right. Whatever it was, it threatened to give way to terror when the two of them were situated and Ashe waved him over.</p><p>Caspar is open, needy, a mess between his legs from where they left off somewhere between 30 seconds and a hundred years ago. He tries to focus on that, on the objective need to be met, but Caspar talking to him splits his thoughts. His tone goes from annoyed and aroused to worried, and Linhardt’s gut drops.</p><p>“U-um… Is everything alright, bud?” he asks, and it feels like being poisoned.</p><p>He seems to have lost his words.</p><p>When he does speak, it’s a little too loud. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>That… Wasn’t what he meant to say.</p><p>Ashe seems to get what’s going on more than Caspar does, and more than Linhardt does, which is to say, more than nothing at all. “Linhardt...”</p><p>“Sorry for what?”</p><p>“I don’t know. I’m,” he tries to focus his eyes. “Tired.”</p><p>“Is this too much?”</p><p>That was Ashe. His eyes do focus then, enough to see the understanding there.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>He wasn’t sure who asked that, but Ashe continues.</p><p>“When we talked before, you told me about how whenever you came close to telling him about everything, you’d shut off, like it was all stuck,” he’s stroking Caspar’s hair, but he can’t seem to bring himself to look farther down to look at his face. “Just now you were totally tuned out.”</p><p>“Sorry.”</p><p>“It’s okay!” Ashe says. He can’t reach him with a hand, but he taps a foot to his knee reassuringly. “We can stop if you want,” Caspar groans like he’s bleeding to death. “But I really think you’ll feel better if you just rip the bandage off and kiss him already.”</p><p>Linhardt was in his body enough to know his cock was still lubed up and standing. <em>“Kiss </em>him?" He gestures to it. "Just kiss him?”</p><p>“Yeah, kiss him,” Ashe repeated. “You haven’t done that yet.”</p><p>“I’ve kissed him all over,” he insists, that prickly, pre-tired feeling coming back. The shakes. The lump.</p><p>“Not on the mouth.”</p><p>“Not on the mouth,” Caspar agrees. “You keep dodgin’ mine, too. Was it the armpit thing? Sorry, I really don't know what came over me there.”</p><p>Linhardt slumps. He didn’t realize how much stiffness he was carrying until he was plopped back into himself again. “No, it’s not the armpit thing.” He puts a hand to his face and drags it down. “It’s much more disgusting.”</p><p>“Oooh-ho,” says Caspar. His hands go into excited fists. Linhardt is doomed. The lump swells. He rubs at his nose. “What is it? What is it? Goddess, I’ve always wondered what kinda weird shit you’ve been hiding from me.”</p><p>“I don’t think...” Linhardt stops dead in his tracks.</p><p>“Yeah, me either,” coaxes Caspar.</p><p>“That I can..."</p><p>“You can do anything, Lin,” cheers Ashe.</p><p>“Kiss Caspar..."</p><p>“Well, you better,” threatens Caspar.</p><p>“Without bawling my eyes out.”</p><p>“Oh,” says Ashe.</p><p>“Probably not every time.”</p><p>“Right,” says Caspar.</p><p>“But, undoubtedly this time.”</p><p>“Interesting,” says Ashe.</p><p>“I’ve stomped it down whenever he’s touched me for my entire life.”</p><p>“Uh-huh,” says Caspar</p><p>“So it’s going to be really embarrassing for everybody.”</p><p>They exchange a look, then turn their focus back to him, and cock their heads in opposite directions.</p><p>“Is that all?”</p><p> </p><p><em>“</em><em>Fuck!!”</em> Gasps Linhardt, into the hot wet crux between Caspar’s neck and Ashe’s chest. He’s humping into him erratically, desperately, like someone who’s been holding off for this for decades, because he is. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I love you so much!” He takes as much shoulder into his mouth as he can to use as a gag and moans. Then, he immediately has to let go because his nose is running so bad he can’t breathe. “Ugh, you feel so good, ugh…!”</p><p>Caspar is completely unused to being overpowered by anybody, let alone a beanpole like Linhardt, but when their lips met he was actually the one to start crying first. He’s still kind of a mess about it. <em>“Linn-nnnn-n…!” </em>he wails, clawing the everloving shit out of his back, trying to pull him closer with all four limbs. He sniffles and snorts and gets snot all over Linhardt’s hair and it’s repulsive. “I love you, I love you, I’ve <em>always</em> loved you! Always always!”</p><p>Ashe doesn’t have the history they do, but he feels so honored to be a part of something like this that he can’t stop sobbing. “You’re so stupid,” he blubbers, barely audible from how hard the bedpost is banging the wall behind him. He risks getting his teeth knocked out to kiss the top of Caspar’s head. “You’re just both so fucking stupid...”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello... swung back here for some formatting stuff. I'm on twitter now! come bug me or whatever @goofylionking</p></blockquote></div></div>
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